Admiration
by imagesofrapture
Summary: In which we see Ezio's perception of his best friend evolve from admiration to something more through a series of standalone depictions of the pair's interactions. Will include mature content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Ezio! Dio mio, it has been far too long!" the polymath exclaimed, stepping aside to allow his cowled friend in with a gleaming simper.

The assassin nodded his head courteously to the artist, unable to hide the grin that shone on his gruff features when he noted that "far too long" had meant three mere days. Once the door shut behind him, the Auditore was pulled into the surprisingly robust arms of the inventor; his warm embrace had become customary at this point.

Much to Ezio's dismay, Leonardo would occasionally neglect to check the younger man for any injuries before bear-hugging him; the former nobleman never had it in him to be upset over it, though. Luckily, tonight was not one of those nights that he would stumble into the bottega with a wound in dire need of cleansing and stitching.

It was rather unusual of Ezio to put off his contracts, but recently, he had grown somewhat weary of the interminable chase across Venezia's skyline. The endings of which rarely ever changed: his hidden blade in the jugular of a shocked, bleeding target, a multitude of guards barking after him as he narrowly evaded their arrows and broadswords. Tonight was different. Tonight, Ezio did not come back with any fresh wounds or cuts, nor guards he desperately needed sanctuary from. Just another Codex page, though he had forgotten what had suddenly spurred his intrigue in the ever elusive scrolls.

The da Vinci tensed momentarily into their embrace before pulling away slowly. Ezio cocked a brow at the abrupt loss of contact, eyeing the older man curiously.

"Che cos'è?"

Ezio's hands still remained on the small of his friend's back. Leonardo's palms found themselves on the inside of the assassin's pristine cloak, eliciting a sharp gasp from the younger man. Why were they standing so close?

"Leonardo, what are you do––"

"Aha!" The other exclaimed proudly, extricating his grip from the other's attire to reveal the Codex page Ezio had retrieved earlier that evening, "Another one! How exciting!"

Without hesitation, the scientist turned on his heel towards one of his cluttered workbenches on the opposite end of the bottega. Splaying the Codex on top of a pile of old, wrinkled parchment, he began tracing the page with an index tarnished by charcoal. Neither of them were aware of the involuntary blush that shaded the hooded man's cheeks.

"Hmmm, what if I tried…" he reached for a slab of glass to mirror the scroll, "Affascinante…"

The assassin huffed in amusement, finding himself a seat by the hearth on the opposite end of the bottega. Ezio pulled back his cowl as he propped himself up on the plush, velvet material. Whipping flames danced in his gleaming, brown hues as he watched the mastermind mumble and meander, intrigued by what others would have dismissed as a mere scroll.

"Grazie for bringing this to me, Ezio. It is a tricky one, indeed," Leonardo called out to him, not once looking up from the page he had begun to transcribe.

The blue-eyed man hovered over the workbench for nearly two hours, forehead knit together in determination as he jotted down a rough translation on a separate parchment. The Auditore drifted in and out of sleep, waking up to the sound of incessant scribbling against worn out paper. Each time he raised his head, he would find the artisan narrowing his eyes at the work below him, thumb and index stroking his bearded chin as he mulled over each line of manuscript. A trace of charcoal would remain where his thumb had left.

Ezio admired the noticeable contrast in his companion's countenance from its usual gaiety. Now, it was an equally familiar display of determination and thought. Occasionally, though, the painter's fairer attributes would light up whenever he reached a breakthrough in the Codex's cryptic nature.

It took a while, but Ezio finally remembered why he had even gone through the trouble of acquiring this page, and many pages before.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Ezio had entered the bottega unannounced through one of its windows, Leonardo did not hesitate to give him an earful, imploring the assassin to spare him the heart attack. Despite the da Vinci's insistence that it was only polite him to knock, he continued to somehow "materialize," as Leonardo had put it, in the middle of his workshop. Foregoing manners was quite Ezio's forte.

The night was still young when he came around this time. When he walked in, he'd most likely find the inventor in one of several states: huddled over a disorderly stack of notes legible only to himself, sketching prototypes of an invention that came to him on a whim, with unfamiliar tools, possibly tinkering away at said prototypes, in one of the back chambers, studying cadavers that reeked of something worse than the city's trademark canal stench, in front of a canvas that should have been in the hands of its commissioner months ago, or sometimes, even asleep.

Ezio was inches away from finally indulging the other's wishes by knocking on his front door when he heard an unfamiliar sound from the inside of the workshop. The man's fist returned to his side as he leant toward the mahogany to gain a better listen. To his surprise, the noise was not that of a hammer or creak of an easel's wooden legs. It was music.

He remained with one ear pressed against the door, listening to the melodic chords of what was either a lyre or a harp. A smile graced the assassin's olive features as he perceived the muffled sounds of intricate harmonies. The song was slow, like something that might have been played during mass, though by no means was it mundane. There was a vibrant flow to the melody that contrasted with the instrument's monotony. It ebbed and flowed, its bright timbre heard even through the hard wood of the door. Ezio needed to get in there, though he would have to accomplish without interrupting the song.

Even as he backed away from the door, the former nobleman could still hear the pleasant tune. Hastily, he skirted along the brick walls of the workshop, eyes scouring for an opening that would allow him in to hear his friend play.

Within seconds, he was already scaling the side of the edifice, up to a window that was thankfully already open. A few pigeons perched on the sill had left their post, replaced by Ezio's strong hands as he pulled himself up to gain a better look at what was happening inside.

The assassin's grip faltered momentarily when a light, velvety baritone rang throughout the bottega, accompanying the gentle instrument. The mathematician's voice had always possessed a buoyant, sing-song quality, though he had never heard it this way before. There was a hint of rasp to it more noticeable on the vibrato that gave the younger man goosebumps. Even without lyrics, the arrangement was instantly entrancing.

Ezio peered down at the blonde in the center of the wide bottega, sitting in a chair surrounded by the usual clutter. Paint-stained digits plucked delicately at the lyre's fibers, yielding the mellow theme Leonardo crooned over with a voice smoother than satin.

Before he realized it, Ezio was already climbing through the open window, leather boots grounded on the scaffold where the engineer fiddled with his more sizable inventions. It was almost second nature for him to enter this way; his footing had grown familiar with the creaky wood, stepping where the least amount of noise would be made.

Thankfully, it seemed that Leonardo couldn't be bothered by anything other than music he produced with hands and from his lyric vocals. The blonde's eyes remained closed as he strummed the instrument so naturally, as if this was a practiced ritual he committed to daily. How come Ezio never witnessed it?

The da Vinci never revealed that his talents fringed beyond the realms of art, science, and engineering. What other gifts was the polymath hiding from him, his closest companion?

Whatever iota of resentment over the prior notion waned as the older man continued serenade what he probably thought was an empty workshop. The other's smile was nearly tangible in his voice, and when Ezio squinted, he wasn't surprised to see the subtlest grin on his otherwise relaxed countenance. It was as if the scientist could feel the music he played.

With a voice as heavenly as his, the painter wouldn't have had to blink an eye to put every minstrel in Italia to shame. Ezio would gladly relinquish his whole purse to hear the other man play for him again. The assassin inwardly cursed himself for not perceiving his friend's hidden flair. It should have been intuitive, he supposed, for a man as elegant as Leonardo to possess such a remarkable voice and aptitude for musical artistry.

Leonardo maintained his obliviousness to the Auditore's presence hovering above him for several minutes, continuing his leisurely melody. Ezio remained in a crouched position on the scaffolding until both the scientist's voice and lyre decrescendoed to nothingness, leaving a gentle echo to fill the still air of the bottega.

Silence fell naturally for several seconds before Leonardo opened his eyes again, still keeping a careful grip on the lyre he presumably fashioned for himself. The tanner man lingered above him, a subdued grin curving his scarred lips upward.

"You never told me you could play, Leonardo…" Ezio remarked, his gruff accent penetrating the quiet workshop. The smirk on his face was nearly audible, too, if that was even possible.

The inventor started in his chair, nearly dropping the instrument he held so delicately as he yelped with surprise. "Gesù Cristo! Ezio, what the hell are you––does giving me a heart attack delight you this much?"

He received a husky laugh in reply before the assassin dropped down from the scaffold onto the stone floor with feline ease. Ezio gradually stalked toward his friend, pulling back his white cowl so the other could see his amused, chocolate hues.

"Idiota," Leonardo muttered under his breath, shaking his head from side to side as he stood; the scientist blatantly ignored his visitor's hearty chuckles, returning his instrument to one of the tall shelves along the side of the workshop's walls.

"You also never told me you had the voice of un angelo, amico mio," the mathematician heard less than a foot behind him.

He shuddered again, whirling around in astonishment when he was met with the sight of the younger man. With a harsh shove, he scowled at the assassin, moving past him toward one of the workbenches.

"Stronzo…" he scoffed, adjusting the beret almost fell off his head when he jumped at that last fright, "You cannot just barge into my workshop like you––"

"How long have you played, Leonardo? How long have you sung? Your voice… È squisito."

Leonardo's temper dwindled almost instantly. He shook his head again, smiling to himself before turning back to his friend.

"Since I was young. I've been singing and playing for as long as I could remember, another beloved hobby of mine. I made that lyre for myself some time ago, just after we arrived to the city."

"And in all the years we have been here, you've kept this a secret from me? You hurt me, Leo," Ezio responded, pressing his hand to his armored chest in feigned injury.

"Hah! You are hardly one to talk about keeping secrets, Ezio..." the dirty blonde offered, "If it makes you feel better, though, no one else really knows about this one, either."

"Perché? Half of Venezia's women would fall to their knees to hear you!"

"I would actually prefer if they did not..."

"But it is an absolute crime to keep such a… a gift hidden, is it not? Your knowledge and your talent, Leonardo, they know no bounds."

Leonardo sighed, reverting his gaze back to the worktable to shuffle papers aimlessly.

"You flatter me greatly, Ezio, but I am quite rusty. I become too preoccupied with my work and other studies that I tend to neglect music," the polymath replied with a shrug, "I forgot to make time to practice the art."

"Such a perfezionista. You play and sound beautifully, Leonardo," Ezio reassured him, a calloused hand settling on the older man's shoulder, "If you intend to keep your music a secret, keep it with me… Per favore, play for me, while I am here. You'll get the practice you believe you need, and I'll get to hear one of Italia's most enchanting musicians."

The blue-eyed man let out a snort, craning his neck to look back at the slightly taller man. "Only if you promise to knock more often."

"Bene. I will," the darker-haired man retorted, waving off the mastermind's concerns, "Now, what other songs do you know?"

Despite his word, Ezio's habits never changed. Leonardo pretended to mind.


End file.
